Escape
by Turtle.Prince
Summary: v.  to break free from confinement or control; to flee, to get away.  n.  flight. -8018


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You stand along the quiet roads of scattered cars passing, inhaling deeply the Namimori twilight sinking as the orange sky extends forever past the horizon. Approaching the long quiet flight of stairs and towards your destination, you breathe in the harsh chilly air and tightens your fist, trying your best to warm them as you wait.

Twenty stops signs. That is the number of how many stop signs it takes to get to his apartment. Twenty stop signs, three red lights - one not working, and four intersections. That is the number of places in which you stopped (unnessarily) just to hold his hand just a little tighter, a little longer or perhaps to land a small kiss. Twenty stop signs, three red lights, and four intersections - that is the distance you have crossed to stay by his side.

The sudden sound of sirens passing and disappearing brings you back to the no longer warm hand in your hold. You look to your side at your companion, dishelved and wearing a familiar black hoodie, a size or two too big for him; you wonder what he is thinking about. He looks tired, even more than you did. He catches your gaze but looks away when the door is open, his prescene leaving you as you watch his back. For that brief moment, the contact of your hands are lost and you glance over your shoulder at the clouds disappearing quickly into the horizon of the dark cities about to come to life.

_It's too late_.

You extend your hand with no further hesitation and your fingers entwine with his. You let the moment linger because you know this is the last moment and while he does not turn at the way your body almost stiffens, he leads you into his apartment with a tight squeeze of his hand as if saying _It's fine._ _Everything is fine. _Breathing easily, you let the noise of the world drown at the click of his door and your duffle bag against his couch.

_It's all right now. _You_ are all right now._

The moment you enter his room, he turns to kiss you and it's cold. His kisses as you stumble to the bedroom is rushed and aggressive. Little nips and bites everywhere. His room breathes frost, his sheets awaiting to be messed up in your warmth. Lips still pressed together as his body moves over you on the bed, his arms come around your back and in a swift movement, your shirt comes off and lands on his bedroom floor.

_It looks better that way,_ you suddenly recall him saying that those many times before.

You bury your face against the smell of lingering cigarettes and his body wash, your fingers at the hem of the hoodie, asking for permission. He responds with a slight nod and your hands are moving to push away at the thick material in your way, trembling fingers meeting and caressing warm flesh beneath. You hear his breath hitch when the cold air meets his exposed skin, his body giving away a light shudder before letting itself become enveloped by your arms.

_'Let me look at you.'_

You angle your head back, eyes following every crook and crane, memorizing every detail that makes up this beautiful person. You feel your lips curve into a light smile and he's looking at you with that glazed over look you can never get over. Before he can say anything, you press your lips to his and your hands come in the middle between your laps, and entwining the loose digits together of yours and his, you gently push him back down on his pillow, his body shuddering the moment it meets the cold sheets. He tilts his head back, neck pale, collarbone visible, and chest already working an uneven rhythm of soft pants, exposed all for you to see. You kiss each and every part of him, taking your time as your hands move to caress his soft body.

_'Why are you so cute?'_ you whisper as his jeans come undone.

He manages this growl and you only smile, thumb out to caress his chin, easing the bite on his lips before you move in to kiss him; his way of saying he didn't like it when you say things like that, those trembling contradicting gasps yelling at you over and over _Don't do __that_.

_'I'm sorry.'_

But you both know that's a lie; you always look at him like this - with _love._

The crossing a few blocks away, the light flashes red for no one in particular. His skin is fair, not too dark not too bright against whatever miniscule amount of light suprassed into the room. The tiredness that can be seen in his eyes is hidden by his hair, his face cast to the side. But you're not staring; you swear you're not distracted by the way the light illuminates against his skin, how his glazed over eyes will shift occassionally to you, or how he will bite his lower lip just ever so lightly at every sigh and every little pant you give and every time your hands will instinctly grab too tight and he's trying to cover the escape of such inconceivable sounds he'd never want to let you hear.

No...

You swear you're not mesmerized by him.

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"If life were a highway, it would have stop signs. And these stop signs… they're there so you'll stop once in a while to take a breath. Maybe have a cigarette or two. And just reflect, you know, just think about all the distance you've crossed. Maybe, just maybe, these stop signs in our lives are good things… You know what? When I stop at a stop sign, I don't think about the distance I've crossed. I just wish I never had to stop."

— "Strawberry Fields Forever"

Pieces of You (Tablo; Daniel Armand Lee )

**A/N: **I'm not very sure. 8018 © Akira Amano.


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